Doghouse: Part One
by Lemonlicious Writes Things
Summary: After failing to meet the production and sale quota for his boss's illegal drug ring, a Sylveon must find a way to make ends meet quickly, lest his life be put at great risk. Meanwhile, a Buizel has just moved into town and started a night shift at the local convenience mart. Struggling financially, he needs to find a better source of income to help feed himself and pay his bills.


**Prologue: Reece**

Both the smell and presence of mildew was strong within the chamber. No light got into whatever hell that Reece was being held in. That is, no light except for the dim flickering glow of the single light bulb barely dangling from a wire on the ceiling. Though it should have seemed inviting, it stung his eyes like red hot needles. What hurt more were his neck and ears. There, it stung even worse as the light draft within the room brushed against his open wounds. He grunted, trying to remain silent as the pain resounded throughout his body.

He was tied down by.. something. It wasn't a rope. It couldn't be a rope. Whatever it was felt fluffy and smooth against his fur, as opposed to the scratching bristles of a nylon cord. It was tied tightly around his neck and his waist, uncomfortably pinning him to the back of the chair and forcing his legs to straddle over it. Reece knew where he was and why he was there, but couldn't recall how he had got there. The large bruise on the side of his head certainly didn't help with remembering these things.

Suddenly, from the void of darkness, there were footsteps. Before long, the harsh red glow of sizzled embers filled the doorway, outlining patterns on a body that could only belong to one other Pokemon. The figure got closer and closer to Reece as he kicked and struggled to somehow get away, praying silently in his head that some type of divine intervention could save him from whatever was about to happen next.

The Emboar raised his voice, speaking three chilling words with a distinct Hispanic accent; "Here you are."

"And all this time, I thought you were dead. Gone, like the rest of the street rats that tried to interfere with business. But here you are, getting your sweat all over my killing floor? You're lucky I don't just disembowel you now."  
He grabbed the lightbulb and pointed it at Reece.

"I remember when we were young," he said with false remorse, "When we were young and we used to trade battle cards. Now, we trade blood money. It's a serious line of work and I can't risk you ruining my fortunes because of some moral values that you expect me to follow, amigo."  
The Emboar reached for a small switchblade on the ground, picking it up and deploying the knife.

"I don't want to have to hurt you again, Reece. But you're costing me thousands. You make more than you sell, and if there's one thing I hate more than losing one of the family, it's bad product. And if your product is bad... they ain't buying it, you hear?"  
He approached Reece, his golden cross-necklace dangling right in front of the Sylveon's nose. The odor of sweat and rum radiated from his body. He held the knife up to Reece's cheek, lightly pressing against the side of his muzzle. Reece remained speechless.

The Emboar sighed.  
"I will give you this one last god damned chance. When I cut you loose from this seat and open THAT door,"  
The Emboar gestured towards a large steel door with a green 'exit' sign above it.  
"You will make quality shit. If I get one more rank-ass complaint about you or the way you do things, let's say that you'll make a nice rug."

He swiftly moved the knife to Reece's chest, cutting upwards at something, though it wasn't his skin. Whatever was holding him down loosened up with a hardy snapping sound before falling onto the floor in front of him. It was at this moment that Reece realized that it was his own severed ribbon being used to tie him down. His expression went from one of fear to one of great disturbance.

Reece gave a simple yet shaky nod as the Emboar opened the exit door. He walked through onto the unlit sidewalk, as the warehouse door slammed closed. Here he went again on his own.


End file.
